


graceless heart

by ourdarkspirits



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Catholicism, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdarkspirits/pseuds/ourdarkspirits
Summary: Matt wrestles with his conscious and has a chat with Father Lantom.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tiltedsyllogism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiltedsyllogism/gifts).



> Thanks for donating. I hope you enjoy it.

The church is quiet when Matthew walks inside. Well, as quiet as anything ever is for him. The noises from outside are muffled, but ever present. The soft strike of his shoes on the cold stone pursues him, his suit rustling like a ghost in the still air. 

Were anyone to see him walk into the church, the choice would look random, the tapping cane tipping onlookers off to his blindness. The truth is he knows exactly where he is in the church, is intimately familiar with the size of it, the steps it takes for him to arrive at the transept. Today he stops short of the transept, selecting a pew to the right of the aisle. 

He leans his cane against the pew in front of him, the light tap as it rests loud in the quiet. He sets down the kneeler and grips the back of the pew as he lowers himself down. It’s the farthest he’s gotten in months, since before he found himself bleeding on a couch in Claire Temple’s apartment. 

He struggles to find the words. Formal prayers have never sat quite right with him since his father died, since Stick found him in an orphanage and started training Matt for a war he never asked for. 

He’s gotten too close, hurt people that he should never have cared about. He hears Stick telling him to depend on himself, that people die in wars.The temptation to live like Stick, to never get close, is strongest when the people he cares about are drawn into the line of fire.

He doesn’t use the formal prayers, certain as he is that Mary stopped interceding for him long ago, his sins too big. He doesn’t pray for his daily bread, not entirely sure he deserves it. He’s not sure he wants God’s forgiveness, not when he’s fairly sure God is the one who put the devil in him in the first place. What he does feels more like meditation. An attempt to come to terms with God, with himself, with what he does. Maybe he talks to God, he’s not sure. 

The wandering, nebulous turn of his thoughts, his prayers, is interrupted by the sound of a door opening in front of him and to his right followed by soft footsteps coming towards him. He tilts his head slightly, face now directed towards the sound. 

“That espresso machine still works, if you’re interested,” Father Lantom calls from somewhere just to the right of the altar. 

A small, wry smile turns up the corners of Matthew’s mouth. He came for the quiet, for a chance to sort out his guilt and his faith, but maybe what he needs more than that is a conversation with Father Lantom over a semi-decent latte. 

Father Lantom hasn’t stopped walking towards him and Matt stands. He answers, “Thanks, Father. I think I’ll take that offer.”

Father Lantom stops and waits for Matt to approach him. Matt grips the aged wood as he stands, feeling the grain smoothed with varnish and still rough to the touch, and picks up his cane. He makes a show of feeling his way out of the pew, genuflecting just slightly, before making his way up the aisle to the transept. 

He ceases tapping the cane as he finds himself next to the priest. 

“Well come on back, then,” Father Lantom says and leads Matt to the rectory. 

Matt hears the catch of the door coming closed and sits down at one of the tables in the small room. It’s warmer in the rectory, it’s size making it easier to keep heated in the winter. Father Lantom bustles on the other side of the room, pulling it out mugs from the cupboard, filling the espresso maker with water and espresso. The sounds of the priest making coffee are unexpectedly calming, grounding and so completely ordinary.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve seen you Matt,” Father Lantom says finally as he sets the the mugs down lightly on the table. 

“I’ve been busy,” Matt hedges. While they rarely ever talk in specifics, Matt has no doubt that Father Lantom knows about his late-night excursions. 

Matt feels more than hears Father Lantom nod, the slight brush of air around his face and in his hair as his head moves up and down. When he remembers that Matt can’t see he says drily, “Busy. Are you making any progress?”

Matt considers a moment, thinking about the law firm, about the clients who come to them for help. He doesn’t know if it’s progress. They bring in quite a few clients, people who have nowhere else to go to for help, who have no way to pay other than through food or favors. He thinks of the Dutch boy with his finger in the dike. 

Choosing to pretend that this is what Father Lantom is referring to, Matt responds, “Sometimes it feels like we are. On other days, it feels like we could serve everyone in Hell’s Kitchen and we still wouldn’t make a dent against the injustice.” 

“It’s a lot for one person to take on,” Father Lantom concedes sagely. “I should probably say something about how the knowledge that you’ve helped something is a reward in itself, but it doesn’t put food on your table.”

Matt nods. He wishes that he could think of the work he does at Nelson & Murdock that way. “I don’t know if it’s enough.”

“To put food on your table?” Father Lantom asks, a note of pleasant humor in his voice. “Or is it enough that you’re doing what you can to bring justice to those who might not otherwise get it?”

Matt lets himself laugh just a little, lets Father Lantom’s joke have its intended effect, then says more seriously, “Sometimes I don’t think I’m doing enough. That no matter how hard we work at the office and in the courts, we’ll never be doing enough. There will always be another injustice.”

“So many have said before that the fight for justice is neverending. Each day, each generation we see new battles,” Father Lantom offers. “They would say that the fact that you are taking part in that fight is enough. Maybe your question is the same one it’s always been. Is what you are doing enough to counteract whatever transgressions you feel accountable for?”

This has always been the crux of the matter and Matt doesn’t say anything. He picks up the mug and takes a drink, feeling the warm liquid slide down his throat, barely tasting it as he contemplates the question. “I don’t think it ever can be,” he says eventually.

“It never will be enough, if you never allow yourself to entertain the possibility that it could be,” Father Lantom offers, his tone offering a reprimand. “And you do more still. What do you think you’re atoning for, Matt?”

He wants to say that he’s atoning for the times when his mere association with Claire has put her in danger. He wants to say that he’s atoning for putting Foggy through hell, for bringing Karen along. He wants to admit to the fire that burns through him when he administers vigilante justice. 

What he says is, “I’ve put so many people in danger. I’ve hurt so many people. I don’t think any amount of help I can offer could outweigh the pain that I have caused.”

He thinks that answer more or less covers everything that was on his mind this afternoon before he walked into the church. 

“So you’ll keep throwing yourself at the bad guys until one of them kills you? Or until you hit some magic benchmark that makes it all balance out?” Father Lantom asks.

“Are you suggesting I’m a martyr?” Matt asks, defensiveness creeping into his tone.

“I think maybe that’s what you’re suggesting,” Father Lantom responds peaceably.

“I have a friend who suggested that I was. She also warned that it’s a sure way of ending up alone,” Matt says.

“Smart friend. No one’s asking you to die in pursuit of justice,” Father Lantom replies. “Some might go so far as to say that your staying alive would be of greater service.”

Matt doesn’t know what to say. He lets the silence fall, their breathing the only sound in the room. He fidgets with the handle of his mug, turning it a little. Finally he turns his face towards Father Lantom, “I’m still not sure I’m the good guy in this story.”

“You’ve saved people who might say otherwise,” Father Lantom suggests easily. 

“It’s not that easy,” Matt says. “You were the one who told me that another man’s evil wouldn’t excuse my own, and I haven’t been sure that isn’t exactly what I’ve been doing.”

“I think, Matt, that if you’re looking for forgiveness that’s between you and God,” Father Lantom offers thoughtfully. “You’ve been doing penance for a long time and I don’t imagine any number of Hail Marys is going to make you feel His grace. You’re going to have to decide for yourself what that’s going to take.”

Matt picks at a spot on the table. His coffee has gone cold. “I’m not sure I’ll ever know what that’s going to take.”

“Take all the time you need.” Matt hears Father Lantom’s chair scrape as he slides it across the floor and stands up. “I have some things to attend to. You can stay here if you’d like.”

Matt listens as Father Lantom walks out of the rectory and stays seated a few moments longer, shifting his mug back and forth between his hands. He has no more answers now than he did before. Finally he pushes the chair back and rises, taking hold of his cane. 

***

“The heating isn’t working,” Matt hears Foggy say as he lets himself into the office. “Is that you, Matt?”

“Didn’t we just help someone out who works with heating systems?” Karen says just as Matt opens his mouth to answer Foggy.

“Oh yeah,” Foggy steps out into the front room and says, “Oh hey, Matt. Karen, can you pull up his information and call him? Oscar, Oscar Burke. That was his name. Where were you, Matt?” 

“I went to lunch,” Matt says, not feeling the need to disclose his stop at the church and subsequent conversation with Father Lantom. “Wasn’t the heating working before I left?”

Matt can hear the rustle of Karen pulling out files. He remembers Oscar Burke. His trial, a case of wrongful eviction, hadn’t been that long ago. Matt also remembers that they had won that case.

“Yeah,” Foggy answers. “Glad you’re back, buddy.” Foggy claps him on the shoulder and heads out again to see if Karen has found the information on Oscar Burke.

Matt still doesn’t know if he’s doing enough. He doesn’t know if anything that he’s doing will ever be enough. Listening to Karen and Foggy moving around the office, working on the problem of the heating, he thinks that being here in this place with these people is a start. He may walk that fine line between good and evil, but offering justice to people who wouldn’t otherwise be able to access it might put him a little more on the good side of that line.


End file.
